


cake and tea and other sweet things

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cinnamon Roll Scorpius Malfoy, Didn't Know They Were On A Date, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Quidditch, Quidditch Reporter Al, Seeker Scorpius Malfoy, they're both smitten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had my ego stroked quite so vigorously,” Scorpius says, and then he sits back, looking kind of horrified by his own wording.





	cake and tea and other sweet things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mxlfoydraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlfoydraco/gifts).



> I finally got round to it! And it's awful, but it'll have to do. I'll edit it in the morning, so sorry for any mistakes. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> (Hope you love it, Serra, just thought it might make your day a bit brighter!)

Al sits stiffly in the chair, shuffling his papers and fiddling with the small, magically-modified recorder. It should let him pick up even the smallest of noises – James keeps asking to borrow it, and Al honestly isn’t sure that he wants to know why. When it comes to James, ignorance is usually bliss.

The door creaks open and Al sits up even straighter, nervous but determined not to screw it up this time. His last interview had been a bit hit and miss, what with the Chaser from the Tutshill Tornadoes sporting a concussion, and therefore spouting gibberish every time he opened his mouth. He needs this interview to go well, but he already has doubts. For one thing, he’d barely focused on the match, too busy staring at the new Seeker, Scorpius Malfoy, watching him fly with avid interest. There was something musical to the way he moved, and it fascinated Al.

And for another thing, Al has absolutely no idea who he’s supposed to be interviewing. His boss had simply shoved Al into the room with a bunch of question cards and told him to wait. He hates being unprepared, and he hates it even more now, when there’s a lot riding on this.

The door creaks shut again, and there’s a flurry of voices from behind it. Al frowns at the pane of dark wood and starts to get up, freezing halfway out of his seat when the door opens again, this time crashing into the wall with a bang. A blonde man practically skips into the room, thrumming with energy, still dressed in Quidditch gear and holding his broomstick in one hand. It’s the newest model, shiny and sleek, and Al gets stuck staring at it for a second, before his attention drifts up to the man’s face.

Al freezes. His mouth drops a little, going slack. He’s going to _kill_ his boss.

“You must be Al,” says Scorpius rather brightly, sticking out his hand. Al manages to unfreeze and shakes his hand, lingering a little too long, if the strange look Scorpius gives him is any indication. He’s a little taller than Al, with long legs and a deceptive, wiry sort of strength.

“Yeah,” Al says faintly. “I mean, yeah, yes. Yes, I’m Albus Potter. Sorry, it’s just – are you sure you’re in the right room?”

Scorpius shakes his hair out of his face, still grinning brightly. He’s either extremely happy about the win, or he’s a pretty pleased-as-punch sort of person, because he hasn’t stopped smiling since he entered the room.

“I was told you needed to interview someone from the team, for the Quibbler,” Scorpius says, peering around the room. “It’s not exactly atmospheric in here, is it? I mean, we just won, so you’d think they’d throw up some banners or something. Maybe a few ribbons.”

“I think it’s a storage closet,” Al admits, joining Scorpius in the perusal of the room. There’s barely enough space for the two hard-backed chairs they’ve squashed in there, let alone for banners and streamers and ribbons, although Al wouldn’t say no to a celebratory drink or two. It’s been a long day, and Scorpius looks – well, he looks sweaty, honestly, but it’s working for him, and Al needs a drink to cope with it. 

Scorpius’s hair is a rumpled mess and his gear is way too tight, his long, muscular legs bursting out of close-fitting shorts. Al’s always been a scrawny, skinny thing, and it’s not like Scorpius is bulging with muscles, but Al remembers him from way back when they were both in Hogwarts, and the kid had been just as awkward and slim then as Al is now. There’s a definite difference between the two of them.

The world is a cruel place, sometimes.

“It’s not all glitz and glamour, then, this job,” Scorpius jokes brightly, and then he reaches forward and grabs Al by the shoulder, steering him towards the door. “You got your stuff?”

Al fumbles the papers as he slots them inside his bag, double-checks the recorder hanging around his neck, and then nods a little dumbly.

“Excellent,” Scorpius says cheerfully. “I know this really nice place not far from here. They sell the best pastries, and I could eat a thousand after a game. Thomas always insists that we eat healthy until the League’s over, but then the next one starts up, and if I didn’t sneak a pastry or two every now and again, I’d never eat anything nice in my life. You don’t mind, do you?”

Al doesn’t think he could argue with Scorpius if he tried. The man has a commanding, bright sort of presence that steamrolls over any awkwardness in the room. He also looks far too smiley to be healthy, but there’s an odd kind of vulnerability in his gaze when he asks Al if he minds.

“I could go for a pastry,” Al says, and Scorpius brightens up again, slinging an arm over Al’s shoulders and pulling him along. Al’s boss arches an eyebrow at him when they come out of the room, but Al just gives him a helpless sort of shrug and taps his bag, where his camera is, a reassurance that he’s not just skipping out on his job.

He catches Scorpius frowning at his bag, and bites his lip.

“I won’t use it,” Al assures him. “The camera. Some Quidditch players like having their photo taken, and others don’t, and sometimes I ask for some to bulk out my portfolio, but mostly I take my pictures during the game.”

“Did you get my good side?” Scorpius asks, slightly playful, although he looks surprisingly awkward about it, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to tease.

“I’m not sure you have a bad side,” Al laughs, digging his camera out to flick through the gallery. When he looks back up, Scorpius is bright red and a little surprised. “Are you alright?”

“Hot,” Scorpius says hurriedly, and Al snags him a water bottle from one of the complimentary stands outside the locker room. The door is slow to shut as they pass it, and Al catches a glimpse of towels and steam, hears whoops and laughter and feels slightly bad.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be in there?” Al offers awkwardly. “I’m pretty sure we can postpone, and I can get a proper interview later on, if you like. You didn’t even get a chance to change, and you must be exhausted.”

“Nothing a little coffee and cake won’t fix,” Scorpius says, and he throws his head back to take a drink of water, emphasising the long length of his throat as he swallows. Al’s eyes glaze over slightly as he watches, and he has to shake himself before he can look away.

“Besides, I’m not actually that good at the whole locker room thing,” Scorpius confides, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and Al leans in, like it’s some big secret he’s being let in on. “I have a habit of talking too much when I’m nervous, and the team definitely make me nervous. I’m sure it’ll settle down once I get used to the position, though, don’t you think?”

Al startles a little at being addressed directly, and then nods. “I imagine it’s going to be weird for a while, until you get used to each other. It’s a team, though, so they’ll make sure you feel comfortable, I’m sure.”

“Oh, they’re brilliant,” Scorpius says, with a wave of his hand. “It’s me that’s the problem.”

Al frowns, wants to disagree, but truthfully, he doesn’t really know Scorpius. He had entertained, briefly, the thought of getting to know him when they were at school, but their houses had kept them apart, and they each had their own separate friends before Al had really noticed him.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Al offers awkwardly, and then he’s cut off by a wave of noise as they slip through the back door and out into the sunshine.

There’s a crowd of people waiting for them, waiting for Scorpius, and Scorpius gives a large, graceful wave before ducking behind a security guard, who leads them both to the apparition point. Al stumbles, a little overwhelmed by the sheer noise of the crowd, who are all shouting and screaming at Scorpius, waving glittery, flashing posters. Al went to the Quidditch World Cup once, and he swears it wasn’t half as bad as this.

There’s a tug on his arm, and Scorpius looks at him for permission, which Al gives with a short nod and a strained smile. There’s the familiar squeezing sensation, and then the world goes black around him.

He blinks in the bright sunshine, finding himself on a narrow street. There are a few people wandering about, window shopping and chatting quietly together in small groups, but the place is mostly calm, serene. Scorpius leads him towards a small coffee shop, pushes him through the pastel blue door, and tucks himself into the booth at the far end of the room.

Al squishes himself into the opposite seat. It’s cramped, and their feet bump together when Al sits forward, until Scorpius simply tucks their ankles together. Al can feel himself blush, stutter, and he busies himself with the list of questions while Scorpius peruses a menu.

“They have gateaux,” Scorpius says, with indescribable glee. “And carrot cake. What do you like?”

“Gateaux’s good for me,” Al says, a little distractedly. He’s a bit busy staring in horror at the list of questions, which are all romantic. The last one reads, what would your perfect date entail? “I really am going to kill my boss.”

“Pardon?”

Al snaps his head up to find Scorpius staring at him quizzically over his menu. “Uh, nothing. Do you mind if I skip the questions and just talk about how the game went? It can be more of an informal interview, if you like.” Screw it. He’ll rework the article somehow, but he’s not asking a bunch of stupid romantic questions.

Scorpius looks surprised for a second, and then delighted. “I’d actually prefer that, if you don’t mind. I mean, I can ramble with the best of them, but when it comes to structured interviews, I tend to get a bit nervous. Why, what were the questions?”

Al shoves the parchment down out of sight and mutters something inaudible. Then he clears his throat and indicates the menu with a flick of his fingers, which Scorpius gladly hands over. He tries to ignore the curious stare as he reads the price of tea, running his finger along the inked lines of text. When he glances up, Scorpius has propped his chin up on his hand and is staring at him unabashedly. Al forces his gaze away. He doesn’t quite know what’s happening; all he knows is that Scorpius has quite an intense stare, whether he’s aware of it or not.

“I think I’ll have carrot cake, and tea,” Al decides, folding the menu back up and popping it in the little wooden holder. Scorpius seems to blink back to himself, beaming as he conjures up a little wallet full of coins. Al digs a few knuts and sickles out of his pocket and pushes them across the table, and Scorpius takes them hesitantly, pushing several back.

“We’ll go halves,” he says, and Al blinks in surprise as he scrambles up to the counter, whistling as he walks. He’s never met such a whirlwind of energy before, never met anyone so bright or cheerful, unless you count Freddie, and nobody ever does, because Freddie was born laughing.

He fiddles with the recorder until Scorpius comes back with a pot of tea, which he settles between them.

“She said she’d bring the cake right over,” Scorpius says. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

Al tilts his head thoughtfully. “How do you think you did, overall? I know you won the game, but were there any parts where you thought things were going to go south? And how will this affect your scores in the League?”

Scorpius looks surprised, and then thoughtful. He sips his tea and answers dutifully, making long rambling comments. He uses his hands a lot as he talks, and Al props his chin up on his fist, elbow on the table, and stirs his tea.

“You know, I really didn’t think we were going to win,” Scorpius muses. 

“What? How come?”

“Well, I mean, it’s one thing to hear from your family that you’re good at what you do, but you never quite believe it until you hear it from other people, you know? Family are supposed to believe in you, and boost you up. Other people aren’t really obligated. So half of me was convinced I was going to do something embarrassing, like fly into one of the goalposts.” 

He smiles sheepishly, shrugging slightly. Al gapes at him. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he says, scowling. “You were the best flyer out there! You could give James a run for his money, and that’s saying something. Your turns were so smooth, and when you flipped upside down at the end, to catch the snitch? That was brilliant.”

“That was kind of an accident,” Scorpius mutters, red-faced. 

“It was still bloody brilliant,” Al reaffirms. “And you got back on your broom easy enough. You’re talented, you know.”

He falters slightly at the sight of Scorpius’s stunned, wide-eyed expression. He blushes pretty, Al realises, and he sinks down in his seat and fiddles with the sheet of abandoned questions, embarrassed by his outburst. 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had my ego stroked quite so vigorously,” Scorpius says, and then sits he sits back, looking kind of horrified by his own wording. 

Al clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, well. You did good out there. I don’t think you should doubt yourself. And you won, didn’t you?”

“We did.” Scorpius grins. He nudges Al’s foot with his own. “Do you want more tea?”

“I’ll get it this time,” Al says. He makes his way to the counter and orders another pot, hands in his pockets as he smiles, slightly pained, at the overly cheerful woman behind the till. When he comes back with a new tray, he stops dead in front of the table. 

Scorpius is reading through the list of romantic questions with a peculiar look on his face. He looks up as Al groans between his teeth and sets the tray down a little harder than necessary. 

“Okay, I didn’t write those questions,” Al starts, but Scorpius is smiling. 

“I can see why you didn’t want to ask them,” he says. “Bit intrusive, aren’t they? I quite like number five, though.”

“Yeah?” Al’s brow creases, and he sits and reaches for the paper. “What would you consider an ideal first date?”

“Somewhere casual, I think,” Scorpius says, voice light. “Not too loud, so you can’t talk to each other, but not so quiet that you feel awkward, like you can’t talk. Somewhere like a cafe or a park, maybe.”

Al hurriedly flips the paper over and notes down a few things. He has the recorder running, but sometimes it helps to jot down some facts about body language, and expression. 

“You can do the others, if you like,” Scorpius offers. His voice is still strangely light, like he’s trying to hide something, and he fidgets nervously. Al frowns, but decides not to push. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Just a few, then. So we’ve done number five, what about number three? What do you look for in a potential partner?”

Scorpius averts his gaze to the window. “Oh, you know, this and that. I think attraction is a pretty instantaneous thing for me, but crushes take longer to form. I like a sense of humour, and someone who’s passionate about things. And quiet people, too. I find they usually have the most to say. And they have to be kind.”

Al nods along, bobbing his head as he scribbles on the paper, glancing up to grin at Scorpius, who inhales sharply for some reason. 

“This is great. Mind if I ask another?”

“Go ahead,” Scorpius says faintly. 

“Do you have a type? You know, look-wise?”

“Dark hair,” Scorpius says instantly. He blushes again. “Um, I don’t know, though, other than that. Nice eyes? Glasses can look nice, too. You know, they make people look focused and intelligent, and when people do that thing where they push their glasses up with their middle finger, it’s just--”

Al freezes, middle finger poised beside his glasses, and Scorpius stutters to a stop. He looks incredibly nervous, but also rather determined, and Al lowers his hand and stares blankly at his notes. Several things are beginning to make sense, but Al can’t quite comprehend it. 

They’re in a cafe, a not-too-quiet place where they can talk. Al is quiet and kind, and he can get pretty fiery over things, like he just did, in front of Scorpius. He has dark hair, and he’s heard past boyfriends and girlfriends say that his eyes are the prettiest thing about him. 

He definitely does the glasses thing. 

“Of course, I like other things too,” Scorpius blathers. “That’s just an example of a type I could, possibly, theoretically have, but honestly, it doesn’t matter.”

“You know, you could ask me my type,” Al suggests, trying to sound casual. “Just to even things out, you know?”

Scorpius stares for a beat. Then he says, quietly, “What’s your type, Al?”

“I quite like blondes,” Al says, with a slow, mischievous grin. “And certain blondes with strong legs and a pretty blush, in particular. And I definitely have a thing for nice eyes, too, although if I’m honest, I quite like grey eyes.”

Scorpius almost squeaks. Al bites his lip to stop the grin from growing any wider, and he waits for Scorpius to speak. Their legs are still slotted together under the table, and Al nudges him. Just when he thinks he’s got this wrong, and that Scorpius was describing someone else, Scorpius takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“There’s a park down the street. Would you like to go for a walk? I can change, quickly, and then we can go.”

“I’d love to.” Al smiles. “But Scorpius?”

“Hmm?”

Al gives him a very long look, up and down. 

“Don’t bother changing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Done! Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it and let me know what you thought, I'm @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr if you want to throw some prompts my way, or say hi. Thank you so much!


End file.
